Puzzle Master
by Naveed z
Summary: Artist, revolutionary, and puzzle master; Jack Perry is an anomaly that somehow managed to land himself in the confines of battle school, only to discover the most convoluted puzzle of them all...his own sister.
1. Anniversary

Background information: The story of Jack Perry takes place several years  
before Ender's arrival to battle school.  
  
****************************************************************  
  
"I'm telling you, the kid's remarkable."  
  
"I've seen the scores."  
  
"But the scores don't tell everything. He has a mind for strategy. Give him a puzzle and he'll solve it, doesn't matter how difficult."  
  
"So what? That's not a trait we need for our future commanders."  
  
"But have you seen his paintings?"  
  
"Yes, I've studied them. Looks like we have ourselves a little Monet."  
  
"More like a Da Vinci. A renaissance man. He's has the logic and reasoning of a scientist, and yet the eye of an artist."  
  
"Major, we need Napoleons, Alexanders, not Da Vincis. And the last thing we want is a kid who has prior resentment towards the fleet."  
  
"But sir-"  
  
"But nothing. I know why your doing this, and I must tell you, there's no sense in trying to change the past."  
  
"We're Soldiers, sir, we try to better the future, not the past."  
  
"We're not soldiers, we've never served in wartime. Our job is to manipulate children."  
  
"And that's what I'll do. I'll make him perfect. Just give me the chance."  
  
"Fine, if you really believe this'll work. But remember, if you screw up, I'll have you court marshaled."  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
Jack massaged his temples slightly as he leaned over his desk. The headaches were coming back, though not because of illness. Today was the anniversary of Emma's departure into space, and now, more than ever, he felt that old emptiness within the pit of his stomach.  
  
All he had left of his beloved older sister was the photo from the town's data file, which the staff had conveniently left for him to find. Now he stared at it blankly as Mr. Wellsburg rambled on at the front of the classroom.  
  
He squinted down at the screen, trying to imagine what she must look like now. Five years changed a person, though Jack couldn't imagine his sister appearing any different than she had looked to the eyes of a two year old.  
  
But appearance wasn't the only thing that changed... Jack had heard stories, most of them probably exaggerated, about people breaking under the pressure; way up they're in space. Even if he saw Emma ever again, would she be the same sweet seven year old she had been before they snatched her away?  
  
Jack shook off the thought. His sister was strong, that's why the IF picked her. She wouldn't break. She'd keep her humanity.  
  
"Mr. Wellsburg?" Jack's head snapped up as the voice sounded through the intercom. "Mr. Wellsburg, please send Jack Perry to my office immediately."  
  
He stood up slowly, reaching for the tattered nap sack that sat underneath his chair.  
  
"Don't bother kiddo." The teacher said, indicating with a nod of his head to the bag, "You won't be needing it."  
  
Jack frowned slightly. He always brought it with him, out of habit, and now it seemed difficult to leave it behind. After all, it contained on of his most valuable possessions; a small black sketchbook riddled with small figure drawings and notes on composition and structure. He didn't want anything to happen to it in his absence.  
  
Not that anyone would actually dare to harm it, of course. His fellow students were frightened of him, not because he threatened them with physical violence, but because he was simply taller than all the other boys, towering over even the biggest of them by a whole foot.  
  
More so than that though, was the fact that he represented everything that their parent's told them to hate in kids their age. He was outspoken and opinionated, with a strong sense of rebellion.  
  
Nothing would happen to his sketchbook, but still it troubled him to part with it, even for a short moment.  
  
In fact, it was all he could think about as he traveled down the long deserted hallway, hardly caring what Principal Peterson wanted from him. He was used to getting called down, that's what happened when you never did your assignments. Often teachers would complain about Jack's lack of motivation, to which he replied, 'motivate me, and I'll be motivated.' They hated when he said that. Grown ups despise kids who outsmart them...as if intelligence depended solely on age.  
  
As Jack had proved time and time again, the laws of adulthood knowledge and logic can just as well reside in the mind of a seven year old. Few adults realized this and therefore didn't believed it when they saw something he had painted, as if he'd actually be spineless enough to disguise someone else's work as his own. Then again, he never tried to disprove their misgivings, only because it was better for him if they thought he was foolish, than if they thought he had talent. When people notice that someone has a gift, the first thing they wish to do is exploit it. He could just imagine one of his teachers flashing one of those toothy smiles at the cameras, and saying some completely predictable falsehood like:  
  
'Oh yes. I was indeed the first to discover him, he really does owe all of his success to me. I've always been there for him...as if he were my own son.'  
  
Just the thought of it made Jack want to expel what he had eaten earlier in the day. Instead he took several deep, relaxing breaths and knocked on the door to Principal Peterson's office.  
  
"Come in, Mr. Perry."  
  
Jack cringed on the inside. Mr. Perry. That was his father's name, not his.  
  
Yet on the outside he was perfectly composed, opening the door without hesitation.  
  
His sense of control, however, vanished as he stepped into the room.  
  
In the corner, standing stoically still, was a tall dark figure...  
  
Wearing an IF uniform.  
  
Could there be word from his sister, after all these years? Or had something happened to her up there in the stark confines of the battle school?  
  
Jack tried to relax as a small smirk lit up on the officer's face. He bit down severely on his tongue, the physical pain bringing him into a harsh sense of familiarity.  
  
"Jack," Dr. Peterson said, sounding remarkably uncertain, "I'd like to introduce you to Major Brant. He's here on behalf of the IF."  
  
As if he hadn't figured that out by now.  
  
"Take a seat."  
  
Jack realized, with slight surprise, that he was still standing by the door, completely unaware of how nervous he looked.  
  
Slowly he walked to one of the small arm chairs that were placed facing the desk at the head of the room. Jack sat down, hardly noticing the large gap of exposed skin between the bottom of his pant leg and the top of his shoe. Jack grew quite rapidly; so often the clothing that had seemed to fit only a few weeks ago became small and awkward looking.  
  
The Principal seemed to notice it, however, and frowned at the untidiness of Jack's appearance. St. Crispin's academy for boys had a strict dress code, one that the seven year old had never bothered to follow. Instead of wearing the clean pressed, deep blue shirt and tie, Jack sat before them in jeans and a T-shirt, his very posture reeking of defiance.  
  
Just as Dr. Peterson began to open his mouth to comment on his choice of apparel, Major Brant spoke up.  
  
"Thank you, Arnold. You may leave now."  
  
Arnold?  
  
The Principle frowned even deeper than before. Jack contained his smirk, knowing full well that Dr. Peterson hated to be reminded of the minimal amount of authority he actually contained.  
  
Arnold. Jack stored that fun little fact about his beloved principal in the back of his mind.  
  
As Peterson left the room, Major Brant placed himself behind the desk, looking sharp and calculative.  
  
Jack remained silent, not knowing what the man could possible want from him.  
  
As if he had heard the boy's unasked question, the military man began to speak.  
  
"What do remember of your sister?"  
  
Jack held back the impulse to say, 'depends on how much you want to know.'  
  
"I remember that she was kind and good natured. She had a sweet voice and often made witty remarks...usually about politics." He didn't even want to guess where this was leading, or why he had just told this officer how much he admired Emma.  
  
"You do realize that you were two when she left, don't you?"  
  
Jack's placid expression turned to ice. He should have expected this. Adults never believed him to be as perceptive as he actually was, and coming from someone who presumably worked with gifted children, it was slightly more insulting than usual.  
  
"Are you calling me a liar, sir?"  
  
"Quite the contrary. It's just that your test results didn't show any signs of a strong sense of long term memory."  
  
Jack was taken aback.  
  
"What tests?"  
  
He thought about the last couple of months, trying to remember if it was possible that he had answered any unusual questions, without realizing it. But no. He never did anything that felt suspicious. He knew that often his instincts were far more in tune than any other form of knowledge, and would not take a test if he had any misgivings.  
  
"I had those puzzle games installed on all of the student desks. I know you never pay attention in class, so I figured you'd try to solve them eventually."  
  
Jack looked at the ground. How much could they figure out from a game? Could it serve as some sort of psychological profile, figuring out his strengths and weaknesses? Jack finally smiled, realizing that yes, of course it could. He shouldn't be surprised that they had picked this, out of every method of evaluation, to test him.  
  
Once again, Major Brant picked up on his body language.  
  
"Indeed, the name Perry is quite popular to us officers. After all, it was your grandmother that created the Situational Analysis Program-"  
  
"The Mind Game." Jack interjected. He knew full well of the 'entertainment' that the battle school placed on everyone of the children's desks. Like Brant stated, his own grandmother had developed it, five years before her son Mark Perry, was born.  
  
The IF officer flinched slightly at his words, as if they brought him great discomfort.  
  
No. No, he had let Jack see him flinch. The guy was still as composed as ever as he tried to fool the boy into thinking that he was a normal person. This was a game in itself...one that Jack did not intend to loose.  
  
"You asked about my sister..."  
  
It was more of a statement than a question. He didn't let any concern shine through his voice.  
  
And yet at the same time he was examining the lines and contours of Brant's face, the way the light hit certain features to illuminate some and soften others. Already Jack was painting in his mind the picture of the hardened African American man in front of him. He could almost feel the way the brush glided easily within his grasp, running over the cool surface of the canvas.  
  
And once again, he found himself relaxing slightly.  
  
"I didn't come here to talk about your sister."  
  
"You're lying. If that were true, you wouldn't have been so eager to bring her up in conversation."  
  
"Don't you remember me?"  
  
Jack paused, uncertain where he could have met this man before. And then it dawned on him. The face had so easily slipped away from him, because it seemed unimportant at the time. To the infant, he had simply embodied the will of the IF, which Jack hated now with a passion.  
  
"You were the one who came for Emma." Jack said slowly, not knowing how he was supposed to react.  
  
"She's no longer the innocent child we sent up there 5 years back. Your sister has recently turned 12, and is now in command of her own army."  
  
He didn't know much about the inner workings of the battle school, but knew somehow that this position must mean something.  
  
He almost breathed out a sigh of relief.  
  
"I'm glad she's doing well." He said offhandedly, not really prepared for what Brant was about to say.  
  
"I never said that she was doing well, Jack."  
  
Silence filled the room. What had happened to her up there? Why did Brant seem so wary to tell him? Well, the game was over. Jack wouldn't have anymore of this.  
  
"What did you bastards do to her?"  
  
"We didn't do it, and I'm not at liberty to say. But I can tell you that she's become irrational, quick to anger, and aggressive. Yet at the same time she has given up all ambition to move ahead with her learning. I'm afraid that the school will decide to send her back."  
  
Jack remained silent, knowing exactly what that implied.  
  
"But I hesitate to send someone I watched over so closely in the last five years back to an abusive home."  
  
Cold rage filled within him. How did Brant even dare to say such a thing about his dad? He was a tough man, but never abusive.  
  
"My father never beat his children, sir."  
  
"No? Then what would you call it?"  
  
"He does what he has to."  
  
But even as Jack said it, he knew it was a lie. He hated, loved, feared, and admired his father all at once...but habit told him to lie.  
  
By the look on the officer's face, Jack could tell that he had decided to put the subject behind them.  
  
But Jack knew now what this was all about. They wanted him to go up into space in order to help his sister regain sanity. Well, it wasn't going to happen.  
  
"Look, you're test scores are quite promising..."  
  
"No."  
  
If Brant was taken aback, he didn't show it.  
  
"You can't convince me to go to battle school, even if it's solely for the purpose of helping my sister."  
  
"But you wouldn't be helping her."  
  
Jack frowned now, not troubling to hide his confusion.  
  
"It is my belief that you're presence there will force her to remain competitive, therefore giving her back the drive she needs to progress. By doing this, you'd be serving two purposes. Her advancement, and your own."  
  
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was this guy insane?  
  
"Why would I want to put myself through hell just to help a bunch of scum bags further their cause? Besides, it's obvious that it's her you want, not me. Why should I waist my time when you're more interested in what Emma can do?"  
  
"Wrong again. That makes four misconceptions doesn't it?"  
  
"Five if you count the part where I accused 'you bastards' of ruining my sister. But since you didn't count that one, I'm assuming my original statement wasn't a misconception at all."  
  
"The fact is that we are interested in you, Jack. Very interested. Your test scores are high up there, as well as your physical stamina and strength. You'd make a perfect little soldier, you only have one draw back."  
  
Jack rolled his eyes. He really didn't like where this was going. Brant noted his change in expression with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"That, young man, is exactly what I mean. You're more likely to start a revolution than to follow orders. You've topped you're sister on intelligence, yet you lack the ability to withstand authority."  
  
The military man let out a short laugh, as if he found this all to be pleasantly delightful. Jack wasn't as easily amused.  
  
"You still haven't convinced me to go." Jack said as he sighed out loud.  
  
Brant stayed silent for a moment, considering.  
  
"Think about it Jack. You'd be far away from your father, far away from the narrow-minded religious types that encompass this school, and best of all, being up there will be like the greatest puzzle you've ever encountered...a whole system of games for you to master. You'll never be bored again."  
  
Jack raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Will I still be able to continue with art?"  
  
Brant shrugged.  
  
"They might allow you you're sketch book, but most personal items are forbidden. Then again, rules never meant much to you anyway."  
  
So that was it. He would go.  
  
Jack wasn't sure if he wanted to smile, or throw up. 


	2. Launchies

"I hope Brant knows what he's doing."  
  
"What do you mean? He's accompanied three launch groups-"  
  
"I wasn't talking about the launch, Anderson."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"This Perry kid...Let's just say he's not your typical child."  
  
"It was my belief that none of our children classify as normal."  
  
"Compared to the usual battle school inductee, he's a wild card. The boy's defiant, which makes him a danger to the program. I don't even know why I agreed to this."  
  
"You did it because you want to see Brant succeed; perhaps more than he himself."  
  
"Maybe. I mean, what if he's right about the child? What if he can cure his sister? Or better yet, what if he's the one we're looking for?"  
  
"I won't believe it until I see it, sir. Anyone of them might prove to be the best."  
  
"So your Indian prodigy, you think she has an equal chance of commanding the fleet someday?"  
  
"She tested more aggressive than Brant's little Da Vinci. She's far more capable of overall survival, and she has a good mind for battle."  
  
"That's what they said about Perry's sister...and just look at her now."  
  
"Virlomi has no such kinks, only pure potential."  
  
"Good, now make sure she lives up to your expectations."  
  
"I know how to do my job, sir."  
  
"You're so certain of that, yet do any of us really have a clue what we're doing?"  
  
"I should hope that the fate of humanity doesn't depend on guess work."  
  
**************************************************  
  
Jack closed his eyes, trying desperately to reorient himself in null-g as his body pulled upward against the straps that fastened him to the seat. He groaned slightly, his sketchbook digging mercilessly into his stomach, where he had it bound and hidden under the one piece uniform that they had given all the boys. He bent slightly because of the queasiness, which only made the book press tighter.  
  
Jack shifted, trying to distribute the pain evenly in order to make it more bearable, but it was hard to move against the straps that held him from flying upward.  
  
No. Jack told himself. Not upward. There is no up or down in null-g.  
  
The space shuttle was now like an empty canvas. It could be flipped or turned any which way, and it would still be the same blank surface. There was no proper side to balance it on; it was merely up to the artist to decide what the bottom was.  
  
Jack was the artist, able to bend gravity to his will. He was no longer pushing up against the fastenings; he was pulling down, hanging from the ceiling of the shuttle. He smiled slightly, now beginning to enjoy the lack of gravity.  
  
He began to push his mind further, imagining that the floor was sideways, left and right becoming up and down. As soon as he thought of it this way, his perception shifted once more, and he now felt as though he were pushing forward.  
  
With this in mind, his stomach settled...his muscles relaxing as he breathed out a sigh of relief.  
  
A few of the boys began to talk again, jokingly as they had been doing before they boarded the shuttle. No one spoke of home, as if the topic was childish or simply unreachable. But Jack knew somehow that it was on everyone's mind, including his own.  
  
He tried to discard the thoughts of a life he was leaving behind, but his father's breathe still lingered cold on his neck, his uncomfortable touches like dirt on his skin, his relentless abuse a stain on his memory.  
  
It all started within three months of his mother's death, a tragedy that Jack could never forget. He had watched the wave of blond hair floating in the bath tub, swirling slightly as if her spirit had somehow lived on within her glowing locks. Jack had stood over her, a confused four year old, gazing down at the small figure submerged in water. A bottle of pills was lying sideways on the floor...empty.  
  
It was only a few months later that his father's depression turned to cold rage and mild perversion.  
  
He would never wish to go back. Home was a place filled with a fear that Jack wasn't able to comprehend.  
  
Did any of these other boys experience these same feelings? He doubted it as he looked amongst them once more, their boisterous faces shining with foolish arrogance. Finally his eyes stopped on the person sitting next to him, and Jack was shocked to discover that it was a girl.  
  
Her light brown skin and raven black hair told him that she was from India, a place whose culture grew strong, despite the recent taboos that labeled tradition and ethnicity as mere superstition.  
  
"Good afternoon, children."  
  
Jack's eyes flickered away from the Indian girl to Brant as he made his way along the handholds.  
  
He stopped as he reached the front of the group, his fingers still wrapped tightly around the handles to keep him steady in null-g as he looked onto them with an expression of extreme hatred.  
  
Jack was taken aback by the transformation. Previously in Peterson's office, the man had seemed distant, yet kindly. Now he looked as if this launch group brought him some acute inexplicable displeasure.  
  
"Right now I see a group of boys, but by the time we reach our destination, you'll find that Battle school is a place for men and men only. So take this time to grow up, because little else will be tolerated."  
  
Jack noted that Brant's eyes never left the face of the Indian girl.  
  
Several of the kids around him stole glances as well, and none of their expressions were too kindly.  
  
It was hard to believe that these boys could be so naive. Brant was obviously setting them up, and each of them was playing their role magnificently. It seemed as though his purpose was to get all of them to despise the only female presence in the group, perhaps to isolate her, perhaps to force the rest of them to bond in their common hatred.  
  
But Jack wouldn't fall for it. He'd break down the entire system before he let the IF destroy another unfortunate girl.  
  
And yet Brant's behavior had become a mystery to him. He had seemed so concerned the previous day about Emma's welfare, that it seemed illogical that he'd begrudge the presence of a woman in the military.  
  
Brant had been right. Everything that he would encounter throughout battle school would be a puzzle, even the people that he had once foolishly trusted.  
  
And thus, Jack learned his first lesson about military life. Trust was an illusion created by the strong as a means of controlling the weak. He wouldn't fall for it again.  
  
"I want you all to realize that few of you here are destined to lead, while the others are destined to follow. So choose your path of greatness, and choose it wisely, for the measure of a man's deeds does not rest in magnitude of his actions, only in his decisions made."  
  
Some of the boys around him were nodding thoughtfully, but Jack was already shaking his head.  
  
Brant must have seen him, which is exactly what he had hoped for.  
  
"You disagree with me, Perry?"  
  
Jack scowled openly. He wouldn't censor himself or become a different person, just because the IF wished to turn him into a soldier. He hated authority, and wouldn't back down from a decent argument with an authoritarian figure.  
  
"Of course I do."  
  
He also didn't bother to say 'sir' afterwards. Such technicalities seemed like an awful waist of words.  
  
"And would you like to explain to the rest of us what makes you think you have such a profound insight?"  
  
"Well, it's not so much that my opinions of greatness differ from yours, I merely shook my head because hypocrites are always amusing to watch in their own hypocrisy. You're telling us that greatness is not determined by the scale of a person's accomplishments, only by his or her righteousness. However, the IF is destroying the innocence of hundreds of children to achieve some greater cause. That implies that the military, including you, is following the concept of Machiavelli, 'The end justifies the means.' You can't possibly stand here and tell us that the magnitude of our deeds has no importance, and then help the battle school find fresh new kids to bend towards their grand scheme."  
  
Brant remained silent, reminding Jack once more of the man he had only met yesterday in Peterson's office.  
  
However, unlike their previous conversation, they now had an audience, and he knew that this time his words would hold more weight. The other children would listen, and although few realized it, the seed of rebellion had been planted in each of their minds.  
  
"Keep talking like that, soldier, and I'll personally see to it that you're iced fast enough to make your piss freeze over."  
  
The other boys laughed in response to Brant's blatant pun about being sent earth side. Jack wanted to laugh too, only because he knew that he had won. Sure, they snicker now, but because of this they'd soon admire him, consider him a part of the group, they'd even follow him.  
  
Jack didn't want to be a leader, it wasn't his nature. But if by doing so he brought these boys into rebellion, he would be accomplishing what he set out to do from the start...Ruin the system that surely ruined his sister.  
  
Brant left, and the chatter built up once more.  
  
Soon several of the boys attempted to engage him in conversation, but Jack merely listened, adding in one word responses here and there until the other person got tired of continuing the dialogue on their own.  
  
This, of course, only added to their admiration. To them he seemed reserved and intelligent, calculative and calm.  
  
And Jack knew exactly how to use their respect.  
  
He turned to the girl next to him, and spoke loudly enough for everyone in the shuttle to hear, yet softly enough to remain dignified.  
  
"Hi. I'm Jack Perry," he said with a kind smile. The other boys noticed this, for he hadn't bothered to introduce himself to any of them, nor had he looked upon them with such warmth.  
  
The girl didn't smile back, only flashed an odd expression.  
  
"Virlomi," She replied, tilting her head slightly, still with that unreadable look in her eyes.  
  
Jack knew now that the girl would no longer be considered the outcast of the group. Instead she'd be up there on Jack's level of high regard, all because he had used their admiration to achieve some good in this battle school society.  
  
"Well, it's nice to meet you Virlomi."  
  
"Yeah," piped in one of the more stubborn boys who had glared at the girl only a few minutes ago, "It's always incredible to see an Indian woman without a herd of goats."  
  
It was a dumb thing to say, only because everyone knew it was meant more to insult than to provoke friendly banter.  
  
None of the other boys laughed, having quickly picked up on the new social order, unlike the Portuguese kid with his snide remarks.  
  
Jack smirked.  
  
"You'll do well to shut your mouth before any more of your stupidity can leak out." He replied coolly causing the others to laugh, including Virlomi.  
  
The boy, whose name was Marco, realized his mistake, and quickly joined in, "Hey, take it easy, York...Some people are proud of their stupidity."  
  
Everyone laughed again, and the mood of the shuttle was now light and friendly.  
  
York. The kid had must have picked up on Jack's New York accent, and decided to make reference to it in his remark. He didn't know it then, but the nickname would stick with Jack throughout his years in battle school.  
  
"Yeah, I think we're all guilty of being a little proud, and maybe even a little stupid," said Shaia, the Israeli boy who sat next to Marco, but who the others referred to as Shay.  
  
"Some more than others," Virlomi quipped, causing laughter to rise yet again from the group.  
  
"And yet the IF seems to think that we're geniuses." Jack said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Marco waved his hand, as if to dismiss the notion. "What do they know anyway? The fleet is comprised of old men who have nothing better to do than sit around analyzing the acts of children."  
  
Everyone nodded, and now it seemed common knowledge that the grown ups were the people they should resent, not their fellow launchies.  
  
Jack had united them, made them whole, despite the attempts of Brant to cause dissention within the group.  
  
He brought the pieces of the puzzle together, he made the threads of the canvas pull tighter to each other, and caused the hearts of children to bind to one another so closely that later they'd wonder how it was possible to gain such loyal companions in a place that taught them to act alone, think alone, and be alone...right down to the core of their existence, until even hope seemed the impossible, dreams mere illusions, and faith the friend of fools. 


End file.
